Forget You
by aleja1
Summary: Why can't you choose what you forget... and what you remember? Full summary inside. DamonXElena.  Rated T for cursing and some sexual situations. Nothing graphic.
1. Summary

**Forget You.**

**Summary**

**This is a Damon/Elena story. It will contain some Elena/Tyler, gross I know. This story is on the high end of the T rating. There will be cursing.**

There's a lot Elena would like to forget. Like how her father knocked up his twenty-four-year-old girlfriend. Like her fear that the whole town will find out about her mother's nervous breakdown. Like darkly handsome bad boy Damon taunting her at school. Elena trys to make everything better by using her famous attention to details to make sure she's perfect for everyone and everything. But then Elena is in a car crash and the next day there's one thing she can't remember at all - the night before. Tyler starts avoiding her and hangs out with Caroline Forbes _a lot._ And why is Damon, of all people, suddenly acting as if something significant happened between the two of them. She dimly remembers Damon pulling her from the wreak, but he keeps referring to what happened to that night as something more, and it terrifies Elena to admit how much of that night is a blank to her. Elena is quickly losing her grip on the all-important details of her life. Her life that seems strangely empty of Tyler and strangely full of Damon.


	2. Chapter 1: Nearly Drowning

Every strong swimmer has a story about nearly drowning.

This is mine:

Late one June afternoon I was driving home from my summer job at my dad's water park, Slide with Clyde, when my phone rang and Tyler's name flashed on the screen. He knew I never answered my phone while driving. Anyone that knew me knew that. And everybody working at Slide with Clyde today had heard that my uncle had gotten Andie, the twenty-four-year-ole human resources manager, pregnant. That meant that all my friends knew, because I'd found Tyler a job there and my entire soccer team jobs as trainers and lifeguards, all seventeen of us - everybody but Damon Salvatore.

I parked my vintage Volkswagon Bug in the courtyard outside my house, between my dad's Benz and my mom's eco-friendly hybrid, and cut the engine. I picked up my phone and called Brandon back.

"Elena"

"Hey, baby. Is something wrong?"

"Everything!" Gosh, he was so dramatic. "You're going to kill me. You know how I was telling you at lunch about Clarissa?"

"Who?" I had been distracted at lunch. I had just heard the news.

"Clarissa? The brunette that works at the top of the Tropical Terror Plunge? She's in college. You told me I should ask her out anyway"

"And?" I couldn't believe he'd called me about this. We'd become friends because I was a good listener and I gave him advice on his girl troubles, but surely he knew this was not a good time.

"Well, I asked her out, and she said yes" I really couldn't see that problem with this. "But then her big sister came to pick her up from work, and _Elena_. This girl was on _fire_. I don't know how much older than me she is. She might have graduated from college already. That's kind of a reach. But, maybe I could go out with Clarissa this time, give it a few weeks to cool off, then try her sister. What do you think?"

"I think you're screwed" He laughed. In the silence that followed, I realized how bitchy my comment sounded. True but mean. I seriously could not have a nice conversation right now. "Tyler, can we talk about this later? I'm sitting outside my house and I think my dad is telling my mom about Andie.

"Oh" Tyler said. He sounded like he had really forgotten about the rumors at work today. Like, really? "Are you scared?"

"I'm….." I stared into space for a second. "No, I'm used to the idea. Everybody's been talking about my dad and Andie since the park opened in May. I'm more relieved I don't have to be the one telling my mother." I looked at my manicure and admired how perfect it looked. "That's awful of me, isn' t it?"

"Elena, you could never be awful." And with that one sentence, my heart melted all over again. Tyler was a player, but he meant well. Deep down he was a sweet person and he knew just how to make me feel better. I ended the call with him and stood up in the courtyard. Wow. My parents were screaming so much that their voices reached me here. I had hurried home so I could support my mom through this. Now I wished I could unheard the screamings of betrayal and divorce.

Instead of going inside, I scooted around the side of the house. I took off the clothes I was wearing over my bikini and kicked of my flip-flops. I hit the beach running. A dark storm gathered on the horizon. Usually my beach here along the Florida Panhandle was gentle. Today the wind was full of sand, stinging my legs. Way down the beach I could make out the red flags flying in front of hotels, warning about strong surf and undertow. The flags were for tourists. They weren't meant for me. I splashed into the ocean. The water today was warmer than the air. It soothed me. The waves were strong but I was stronger. I swam straight out over them, purposely tiring myself out. A long ways out, I performed a flip turn against an imaginary wall and swam back toward the shore.

A wave crashed over my head, taking me down by surprise and forcing salt water down my throat. Cold jets curled around my ankles and towed me along. My knee skidded across the bare sandy bottom of the ocean. I kicked toward the surface. These few massive kicks took all my strength. I popped into the cold air. Just as I sucked in a breath, another massive wave plunged me down. In the roar, I coughed water and strained against the urge to breathe more in. With strength I didn't know I had left, I pushed off the bottom propelling myself towards that top. I would glide through the water, come up, and take that breath that I damn well deserved. The surface wasn't where I thought it would be. I couldn't fight the urge to breathe the ocean in. That's when I realized I was going to die. The ocean tossed me around like a piece of trash. I took a deep breath, already paddling before I hit the water. I knew the current would take me again soon. I didn't waste my breath screaming for help. No one would hear me. The beach was empty. There were no lifeguards on the private section of the beach. Even if someone tried to rescue me, it would be some idiot that didn't have a float and then the both would have died. I shouldn't need someone to rescue. I was the one that was a _lifeguard_. I swam until I couldn't swim anymore, then I kept swimming.

Finally I escaped the current, stood upright on the bottom, and ran as fast as I could to the shore. As I collapsed the storm broke. The rain beat me into the sand and seaweed. I lay there for a long, eyes squeezed shut against the raindrops, breathing. It was over. I only thought about myself. I was so thankful to be alive. I walked home in the cold rain.

But three months later when my mom attempted suicide, I would look back on that afternoon as a warning. When I came home and heard my parents arguing, I should have gone inside and comforted my mother instead of escaping into the water like a troubled teen.

**You don't have to read my crazy thoughts. I'd like you to and you will become 10x more awesome if you do but you don't have to. At least review and tell me what you think.**

**Thank you for reading this far. I don't know when I will update because I am seriously bad at that, but I will try. This story is based on a book I just recently read. It is VERY similar, so I will not tell you the name of the book until the end. If you can guess it, kudos to you. I appreciate all constructive criticism, but please don't make rude comments. You don't need to make a fourteen-year-old girl feel bad. And if you do, you suck. If you have any ideas you would like to give me, please feel free to message them to me. Thank you.**

**XI'mXAwesomeXEndXOfXStory! **


	3. Chapter 2: Suicide

A small chip had appeared in the oink nail polish on my right index finger, where it was most noticeable. I rubbed my thumb across it and hoped no one would see it before I could fix it. My mom had always stressed to me that outward appearances were very important. Strong personalities would challenge you no matter what, but you could repel the weaker people who might take a swipe at you by presenting yourself as moneyed, stylish, organized, and together.

From across the emergency room waiting area, I heard a familiar voice from school. A voice that I associated with bitterness and hate. I looked up from my fingernail. Damon Salvatore stood in the vestibule, framed by the black night outside.

Damon was hot, to say the least. He had black hair that never streaked in the chlorine and salt and sun, and eyes the strangest light blue, exactly the color of the water in lap pool and sometimes in the ocean. They were mesmerizing and captivating, framed by long black lashes in his tanned face. I could see why his eyes were famous among the girls at my high school. A boy with an ego like Damon didn't deserve eyes like that.

I had a lot of classes with him this year. He was on the varsity swim team with me. And he hated my guts. Damon was the last person I wanted to see right now, when the doctors had told me my mom would live, but I didn't know what would happen next.

Instinctively I ducked my head, which would do me no good if he looked my way. My hair wouldn't drape forward to cover my face. My hair was still in the ponytail I'd worn home from work a few hours ago, when I'd walked into the jarringly quiet apartment I shared with my mom and found her. Anyway, Damon and I had known each other forever. He would recognize me instantly. My hair my face would not help one bit.

But he wasn't look towards me. He talked with the police officer who'd responded first to my 911 call, who stood awkwardly in the apartment while I sat on my mother's bed and held her hand until the ambulance came, and who had not abandoned me. My dad had been half an hour away in Destin, shopping the Labor Day sales for baby stuff with Andie. He arrived fifteen minutes ago and without a glace my way burst through the hospital doors in front of me, into mysterious corridors that were off-limits to minors like me. All this time, the police officer had sat with me in the waiting area. Well not really _with_ me, but across from me. He wasn't close enough to comfort me or talk with me, but he was there like a protector.

Now he stood with Damon. Damon handed him a bag printed with the logo of a local seafood restaurant: Jamaica Joe's. And I realized in a rush that the policeman was Damon's older brother, Officer Salvatore, equally celebrated by the girls in my school for his gorgeous glower. They all wanted to be pulled over by him. Damon brought his brother dinner because his brother had stayed with me long enough to miss a meal.

They spoke with their heads together, and now Damon _did_ look up at me. His brother was telling him what my mom had done. I looked away again. The whole hospital was white with small grey specks. I couldn't stand it. I looked over at the vestibule. The night was black, Officer Salvatore was dark in his uniform and Damon shook his black hair out of his blue eyes. They were piercing even at this distance. He said something to his brother and took a step toward me.

Oh God, weren't things bad enough without Damon here? I'd thought the shock of finding my mother drained the life out of me for years to come. But my heart still worked, pounding painfully in my chest in anticipation of what Damon would day to make things worse.

The emergency room doors flew open and banged against the walls before closing shut again. My dad stalked toward me, muscular and fit at forty-seven, his handsome features set in fury. I shrank back against my seat, afraid that he was angry at me.

But maybe he was furious at the world for allowing his ex-wife to sink this low, or better yet, furious with himself. He had realized on the drive here from the baby superstore that he had failed us. Now he would come to our rescue. Yes, there was the matter of Andie being three months' pregnant with his baby, but our family would get past that and he would come back to my mom.

He sat down in the seat next to mine. His brow was furrowed in anger, but as he opened his mouth, I was sure I'd hear him utter the words I longed to hear all summer.

"You keep this to yourself" he snarled.

I blinked at him. My brain rushed through scenarios, trying to make him seem like the hero. I wanted him to be the good guy, but I knew it wouldn't happen. My brain finally gave up. There was no way he could be our hero when his first words to me were a command to keep things quiet. I stammered, "Keep…How…?"

"They're taking here to the loony bin in Fort Walton" he interrupted me. "With any luck they'll dope her up, and she'll be back at work in six weeks. You want to spread it around town that she's nuts and ruin her career, go right ahead." I listened intently, searching for pain or sorrow in his voice and all I could come up with was malice. I wanted him to feel sorrow for what my mom had done and remorse for the hand he'd had in driving her to this point. He felt embarrassed that his friends and business partners and employees might dish about him and his tabloid-worthy private life. He felt fear that my mom would lose her job and he'd have to share the proceeds of his water park with two families instead of one.

"Don't you even dare tell those stupid little twins, you understand me?" He leaned forward and looked straight into my eyes as he said this. It was the closest his body had come to mine since he got to the hospital. He would not hug me. He would not try to comfort me. He would only invade my personal space to emphasize that I'd better not spill this secret to my best friends.

Without waiting to hear my response, he got up and strode towards the vestibule. "Don't move" he barked, without looking at me.

Oh God, oh God. He might threaten Officer Salvatore into promising silence, but he had no idea who Damon was, or how little Damon cared about anybody. There was no threat my dad could make to Damon that would shut Damon up if he thought spreading the news about my mother would hurt me. Damon would think he was ruining my life, but really he would be ruining my mother's. Even if she started to recover from her mental illness, she wouldn't recover much if she lost her job and the community's respect.

I watched this scenario play out in my head as my dad swung open the glass door to the vestibule and leaned into Office Salvatore's personal space. There was nothing I could do to stop it. Damon's blue eyes widened as my dad growled at Officer Salvatore. I couldn't make out what my dad was saying but when _you can kiss your job good-bye_ floated to me through the glass, I turned away from the black rectangle of night. I looked at the white doors to the emergency room. My thumb found the chip in my nail polish and rubbed back and forth across it.

The vestibule door squealed open. "Elena" my dad called. "Let's go." He stood alone at the threshold to the darkness. He must have chased Damon and Officer Salvatore away.

I pointed towards the emergency room doors. I thought he'd understand what I meant by this. He raised his eyebrows at me. I couldn't believe I'd have to explain this to him. Didn't he understand that I didn't want to leave her alone? I opened my mouth and had no words for any of it.

"They won't you see her anyway" he said. "The loony bin won't let you see her either. They are keeping her away from you to protect you from her and to protect her from you. It's to remove her from the environment. They'll let her call you when she's ready." He was saying what I was thinking. I had been blaming myself and hoping that self blame was natural in the circumstances but ultimately silly. He was saying that it wasn't silly. Even the mental hospital thought it was my fault that my mother had done this. I still didn't want to believe any of it, but I felt myself falling down that slope without anything to grab to save myself, except this:

I whispered, "When I first got here, they told me maybe I could talk to the hospital psychologist about what happened?"

"They don't need you to diagnose your mother" my dad grumbled.

"I mean" I swallowed "for me? To talk about me?"

He huffed out a sigh. "So now you're crazy too? You're not going to a psycho-anything. You see how much good it did for your mother. They'll just give you drugs so you can OD on them later. There's a reason we call them _shrinks_. Let's go"

I stood and followed my dad through the vestibule and into the night. We didn't have to walk far. He had parked the Benz in a handicapped space just outside the door. The backseat was filled with large boxes with laughing babies on the side. I slid into the passenger seat and lost myself in an argument inside my own head.

I did not want to believe my dad was right. My mom had not OD'd on medicine a shrink had given her. She had OD'd on sleeping pills her regular doctor had given her. She had never gone to a shrink, probably because of my dad's opinion of them. I could have pointed this out to him, but he wouldn't have listened to me.

In my mind I was back in my mother's bedroom at our apartment, trying to fix everything. I was the lifeguard, but I couldn't give her mouth-to-mouth because she was still breathing, and I couldn't give her CPR because her heart was still beating, faintly. What could I do to help? When the paramedics arrived I could tell them exactly what she'd taken. Holding my cell phone to my ear with one hand because the 911 dispatcher had order me not to hang up, I walked to the bathroom and found the prescription bottle in the trash. Empty.

"Aren't you going in?" my dad asked.

I looked over at him. He was looking through messages on his phone. He'd parked the Benz between mom's hybrid and my battered Bug. He'd just bought Ashley a convertible Beamer. I drove this ancient Bug because he made me use my own money from working at Slide with Clyde for my car, insurance, and gas. He'd told me before that growing up a spoiled brat was what was wrong with my mom.

"Come to think of it" he said, still scrolling, "I'll have to help you. You need to get everything. Even after she's released the judge won't let you live with her. You probably won't be back here for a while." Behind us the trunk popped, ready to receive my things. He stepped out of the Benz.

I followed him into the parking lot. The apartment building was the nicest in town, which wasn't saying much. Everyone who could afford a house lived in one, which left the apartments for the transients. Mature palms and palmettos softened the lines of the weathered wooden building, but a huge air-conditioning unit filled the late summer night with it drone, and the scent of the community garbage Dumpster wafted from behind a high fence. My dad noticed the smell too. I could tell from the way his nostrils flared in distaste. I wondered why he didn't just walk in without me like usual. Then I remembered that he didn't have a key. I pulled my key chain from my pocket. Still, he didn't move. He didn't know which apartment was mine, after I'd lived here for three months.

An instant of anger at him propelled me forward, onto the sidewalk. I inserted the key into my lock. But now I had to turn the key. Now I had to go in.

My dad was watching. I couldn't let him see me hesitate. That would make things worse. That would make things worse on my mom, to admit to my dad that what she'd done made her less of a person and worthy of his hate. I shoved myself inside and turned the light on.

At least the apartment was clean. Just the way I left it. It didn't look like an insane person lived here, but it sure as hell felt like one lived here. Viewing it through my dad's eyes, the apartment building's standard issue furniture made it look like she had sunk low. I didn't want him venturing farther inside, judging.

I looked at him. "Why don't you watch TV while you wait? I won't be long. Can I get you something to drink?"

He grunted and stepped outside, reaching into his pocket for his cigarettes, a strange habit he'd taken up last May when the water park opened and he had hired Andie.

I watched him until the door closed behind him, then ran through the apartment, making sure that it was neat. As I passed back and forth in front of my mom's desk in the living room, her suicide note stared up at me the most obvious crazy item: _Elena, I just couldn't see myself doing it all another day. I love you. Mom._ If I put it in the desk drawer it would feel as though I was putting away my mom. I settled for squaring it on the corner of her desk. Again.

In the kitchen I peered into the refrigerator. I'd take anything perishable to the Dumpster so my mom wouldn't have a mess to clean up when she came back. I was surprised to find no fruit, no milk. My mom had already cleaned it out.

In the bathroom I grabbed all my toiletries and left my mom's. In my bedroom I grabbed armfuls of clothing from my closet and my dresser and shoved them into my suitcases. At first I went for the summer clothes only. Then I pulled out a light jacket incase I was still living with my dad when the nights got cool. As I reached the sweater box under my bed, I stared at the cotton and cashmere. My heartbeat accelerated as I thought about just how long my mom might be gone.

The smell of smoke startled me. I hoped my dad wasn't smoking in the apartment because my mom was allergic. I shoved the sweater box back under my bed, zipped my suitcases, and hauled them into the den.

The apartment door was open, letting out the air conditioning and letting in the air my dad had just smoked. He stood over my mom's deck, reading her note with his nostril flared again.

"I'm ready" I left one suitcase for him and wheeled the other past him and out the door, hoping to distract him from what he'd already seen. He followed me out. I locked the door. When I turned around, he held his hand out. I looked up at him, puzzled. "The key? Why?"

"Because you're a teenager" he said, "and I'm your father."

I didn't like the finality in his tone or the implication that I was a wild child who couldn't be trusted with a key to an apartment. But a part of me was grateful that my dad was taking charge. I wiggled the key off the ring and held it out to him. He didn't notice. He was looking at the screen on his phone.

"Dad"

He pocketed my key and put my bags in the trunk of the Benz. He nodded toward my car. "You're bringing your car, right? I'll see you at home.

Home. He meant the house on the beach. I hadn't been back there since my mom and I had left. He had joint custody of me, but I figured we saw enough of each other every day at work. Besides, Andie had gleefully warned me that if I ever did want to visit, the house was a mess. She was having the kitchen remodeled. I did not want to follow my dad back there right now. I could not sit in that bedroom tonight, wincing at my heavy heartbeat. There was only so much I could take.

"Actually" I said, "if you don't want anyone in town to know about Mom, there's a beach party I need to go to tonight, the last blowout of the year. If I'm not there my friends will want to know why." The Slide with Clyde employees had thrown beach parties all summer, Tonight's party was special because today, Labor Day, had been our last day of work. Slide with Clyde had closed for the season. This much was true.

It was not true that my friends expected me at the party. They expected me to stay home with my mom. Some days when I came home from work, she seemed energetic as ever. Better, even. But most days she hardly ate dinner, and she went to bed early. In the last couple of weeks she'd complained that she couldn't sleep. I'd suggested that she didn't need twelve hours. Her response was to ask for those sleeping pills from her doctor. I had worried about her all summer, so I'd stayed home from my friends' parties, not that it had done any good.

Tonight I would go.

My dad nodded, barely listening. "I may be out late" I warned him. "Is that okay? I know I have school tomorrow-"  
>He closed the door of the Benz and started the engine, already thing of someone else.<p> 


End file.
